A whip crack sounded, followed closely by an inhuman
bellow. Zarshad closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead as if it pained
him. The Legate hated his command post. An underground fortress full of
stinking orcs, isolated from any of the city luxuries to which he'd
grown accustomed. But his superiors had promised that he had the
potential of advancing his career greatly with this assignment, so he'd
jumped at it, thinking he would be set in a city, guarding a Black
Mirror. Instead, he'd been placed on the front, in a taken dwarven
hold. The former Legate had died in an open attack just months prior,
but Zarshad suspected the man had killed himself to be free of this
filth. Another bellow brought the man from his thoughts. What, in the
name of the Shadow, was that horrid sound?! He was awaiting word from
Khrasil, the woman that had promised him something "special" to help
with the efforts to destroy the dwarves, and was in no mood to deal
with another instance of orcish rowdiness. He moved to the window to see what was causing the disturbance.
The cavern that housed his outpost was vast, and his vantage points
allowed him a view of the only entrance and exit it. The sound was
coming from the entrance. A knock on the door drew his attention before
he could draw any conclusions of his own. Without waiting for word, an
orc stepped inside. "My lord, Lady Khrasil's gift has arrived." The bellow sounded again and the orc nodded for Zarshad to look
out the window. What he saw entering his outpost left him speechless. Easily two feet taller than his orcish soldiers, with mottled
gray-green skin, the creature seemed to have no body hair and wore no
kind of clothing. It shambled forward, with its escort surrounding,
though it seemed to be a little rounder in the stomach. Just what he
needed, Zarshad thought, another fat, lazy denizen of the mountains. At
that moment, one of the orcs cracked its whip again, in an attempt to
steer the creature toward the gates to the barracks. Without warning,
the beast flung a hand toward the orc. It connected with a thud and set
the orc against a nearby wall. The legate wasn't certain if the orc
died before or after it hit the wall. He didn't have much time to
ponder that either, as he watched the creature smash through the gates
and trample at least half a dozen orcs before calming again, with the
help of one of the orc shaman. There was a weapon he could use.

The Cave Troll is a favorite siege weapon of Izrador’s forces. Large
enough to smash down walls, yet small enough to move within caves and
corridors, this creature is a fearsome foe. Bred and raised for war in
mired earthen pits in the far north, these creatures reach full size in
a short span of time. An adult Cave Troll stands about 10 feet tall and
weighs over 1000 lbs.; its mottled grey skin giving it a semblance of
rock. While their body grows, their brain remains relatively the same, and
their intellectual capacity is quite limited. Cave Trolls are easily
controlled, but prone to violent outbursts that are not. Their only
limit is their death allergy to sunlight, making their full application
impractical. Cave Trolls speak orcish, and understand basic commands in the tongue particular to the legate they serve under, if any.

COMBAT The Cave Troll is typically used as a front wave attack against
dwarven holds beneath ground, sent forth to break down the stone
defenses and make an entrance for orcish soldiers. Its brute physical
strength allows it to make quick work of opponents, while its simple
bulk and size allow it to overcome simple obstacles – including dwarven
warriors. Trample (Ex) : Whenever the cave troll attempts a Overrun and knocks the enemy prone the defender suffers crushing damage equal to 1d4+8. Sunlight Petrification (Ex) : A Cave Troll caught in direct
sunlight must make a Fort save DC 25, or be stunned for one round. A
Cave Troll caught in direct sunlight for a second round, turns
instantly to stone.